His senses immediately went on high alert. He willed it to be Shelby, hoping she'd had a change of heart in the past hour and regretted her defiant dismissal of him. Though he fully intended to see her today, no matter how busy she claimed to be, it would be extremely gratifying if she were to take the first step for once. It would mean that they wouldn't have to start all over again, with those advance-retreat moves and countermoves, to regain lost ground.
And though he wasn't sure why, he knew that she'd strategically withdrawn from him. From the way she'd run from the car into her parents' house, it was clear that she was determined to put the friendly intimacy of last night firmly behind her.
And he was not going to let her do it. Garrett's blue eyes glinted with the fiery McGrath determination. He and Shelby would pick up the threads of friendly intimacy and take it further, to the all-encompassing intimacy, that could exist between a man and a woman. The prospect stirred his blood and he strode to the door, hard and hungry with expectation.
Laney Halford stood on the small porch, wearing a very brief, purple, gold and green bikini, a pair of high-heeled sandals, and an alluring seductive smile. All that was missing was the tiara on her head and the sash reading Miss Wherever, he thought sardonically. The hot surging of his body instantly ceased, as if he'd been doused with a bucket of ice water.
"Room service," Laney announced throatily, holding up a small round tray containing two tall frothy drinks. "I thought you could use something special after your ordeal last night."
"You've seen Shelby?" That interested him, far more than Laney in full seduction mode.
"Yes, poor thing." Laney laughed prettily. "She looked like she'd just crawled out of a swamp. I believe she felt that way, too. She ranted on and on about what a miserable time she'd had last night. I felt sorry for her, of course, but after listening to her carry on, I found myself feeling sorrier for you. I know what a wretched disposition Shelby has, and I'm sure she didn't suffer in silence in that dumpy motel. You must have had a terrible night."
Garrett watched her, his blue eyes assessing. "So you've come to offer solace and succor?"
Laney dimpled. "I've come to present you with your very own Halford House Goddess."
"Are you by any chance referring to yourself?" he asked incredulously.
Laney chose to take his arch remark as a compliment. She tilted one hip and the motion caused her full breasts to jut forward. "A Halford House Goddess is a drink, silly." She giggled girlishly. "It's an original specialty of the house. One of the bartenders invented it a few years ago and named it in my honor. It goes down very smoothly, Garrett. I know you'll enjoy it." Her tone and her eyes implied that there was a lot more he could enjoy that afternoon, if he were willing.
Garrett eyed the white ice-creamy drink. His gaze flicked to Laney's petite but voluptuous figure, so lushly displayed in the bikini. The high thin heels added a blatantly alluring touch. This woman left no doubts that she was available for the asking.
But he wasn't asking. "I appreciate your concern," he said dryly. "But I don't drink in the afternoon, particularly when I'm working." He nodded toward the desk with its telephone and facsimile machine that had been installed at his request yesterday during his absence.
"I'm due to be linked into a conference call and then I have to—" He broke off. He wasn't going to explain himself any further. The bottom line was that he wasn't interested in sampling a Halford House Goddess or Laney Halford's obvious charms. Had Shelby arrived at his door, unwashed in yesterday's wrinkled shorts and shirt or starched and stiff in one of those prim business suits she favored, he would have dumped the conference call without pause.
"I guess what I'm saying is, thanks but no thanks, Laney."
Laney's eyes narrowed to slits and a flash of pure rage momentarily marred her lovely features. But she quickly rearranged them into a sweet expression of regret. "I understand how busy you must be, Garrett. After all, you're an important executive of a multimillion-dollar corporation. Unlike Shelby, I appreciate your success with Family Fun Inns. She might look down on you and your motels as low class, but I don't. That's one of the many differences between Shelby and me. I admire other people's accomplishments—she's only interested in her own."
Garrett gazed at her impassively. "I see."
And he did. Laney's tactics were as subtle as a terrorist's bombing. He tried to imagine his own sisters trying to undermine each other, the way Laney did Shelby. He found the concept unfathomable. The McGrath sisters all possessed formidable tempers, so quarrels were certainly not unheard of, but innate family loyalty would prevent any one of them from deliberate sibling sabotage à la Laney Halford.
"You're something, Laney," he said with a smile that didn't reach his icy blue eyes. "You're really something."
Accustomed to unabashed admiration from men dazed by her beauty, Laney completely misinterpreted his sarcasm and his cold smile, taking them as compliments due. "You're something, too, Garrett." Her tone sounded calculatedly husky and she wiggled closer to him, her movements equally studied.
She would have brushed against him if Garrett hadn't retreated several steps. "Hey, watch that tray," he said testily. "You almost doused me with those drinks. And I want to wear a Halford House Goddess even less than I want to drink one."
Laney shot him a look cold enough to freeze fire. "You don't have to snap at me!" she snapped at him.
"Don't I? How else can I make you go away? You don't seem to respond to subtle hints."
Laney gasped with indignant outrage. She pivoted around, no small feat in such high skinny heels, and stalked off. She'd gone only a few steps when she turned again and hurled the tray at him. Her aim was off. The glasses struck the wall of the cottage and then hit the ground, smashing to smithereens and soaking the walk with the thick, gooey white liquid.
"Have a cleaning crew sent over, will you?" he called after her as she rushed away, the height of the heels forcing her to take inefficient, mincing steps. Garrett didn't stick around to watch.
He went back inside, dosing the door firmly behind him.
* * *
Chapter 8
« ^ »
Shelby entered Miss York's office with some trepidation. Her father's secretary was seated at her desk, deeply engrossed in her typing, the very picture of formidable efficiency.
Miss York glanced up at her, clearly not pleased by Shelby's impromptu appearance. But Shelby didn't take the secretary's dour grimace personally. Miss York did not approve of any unscheduled visitor. If the President of the United States himself decided to drop in unannounced on Arthur Halford, Miss York would greet him with the same frown of disapproval she was bestowing on Shelby.
"I was wondering if my father is in and if I can see him?" Shelby was at her most respectful. She understood Miss York's need for order and routine; she required them herself. For a bleak moment, Shelby wondered if she were looking at a version of herself in the future. An executive Miss York whose every hour was regimented with no room for spontaneity, whose whole life revolved around Halford House.
She forced herself to shake off her dark mood. She was here to work, and she was dressed for it, in her charcoal-pinstriped summer wool suit and crisp white blouse. Her hair was swept back in its tight, untouchable chignon. She felt competent and professional, eager to do the job. Work had always been her panacea, dating back to her school days when she'd labored industriously over homework assignments.
After exchanging a few words over the intercom, Miss York motioned for Shelby to enter her father's office. Arthur Halford was seated behind his desk, a wary expression on his face.
"I understand you spent the night with Garrett McGrath," he said without preamble.
Shelby tried vainly to stem the hot blush sweeping through her. "It wasn't exactly like that, Dad," she said quickly. Who'd told him? And what had he been told?
"Is that why you're here?" Halford pressed. "Did he say or do anything that … uh, upset you?"
/> Astonished, Shelby stared at her father. Was this his way of asking if Garrett McGrath had, well, not treated her with the proper respect? She was flabbergasted. She couldn't ever remember him exhibiting such paternal concern, not even when she'd been a teenager just starting to date. It occurred to her that despite his display of professional assistance, perhaps her father didn't quite trust Garrett due to his low-end origins. That seemed patently unfair.
"Garrett was a perfect gentleman, Dad," she reassured him firmly. "He and I…" She was blushing again and annoyed with herself for it. "We both made the best of an unpleasant situation," she finished briskly. "And I know it's late, but I'm here to work."
Halford looked at her hard for a long moment. "Very well, I have an assignment for you." He reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a folder. "Take this to McGrath. And stay with him until he reads it."
Shelby's first instinct was to protest. She didn't want to see Garrett, not now. After all, she'd spent the last hour or so trying to shove him out of her mind while vowing to keep her distance, thus thwarting his promise of an affair. She cleared her throat. "Couldn't Paul take it to him?"
"No, dammit, he can't!" snarled her father. "I don't understand you, Shelby. You come barging in here, demanding something to do and when I give you an assignment, you try to slough it off on Paul Whitley. Is that why you brought him here from California? To be your flunky?"
He fairly flung the folder at her. "Now take this to McGrath. I don't want any more complaints from you. And I don't want to see you for the rest of the day, either," he added, punching the buttons on his phone in an unmistakable gesture of dismissal.
Shelby took the folder and walked slowly from the office. She'd deserved that, she told herself bracingly. Her father's frustration with her was certainly understandable. She had barged in, demanded work, and then tried to reject the work he'd given her. As an executive, she wouldn't cotton to such insubordination, either. She glanced down at the folder. She would see to it that Garrett received it immediately.
As she walked through the lobby, she happened to catch a glimpse of herself in the big gilded mirror hanging above a Queen Anne chair newly upholstered in Halford green. Her attire was proper and appropriate for her position, of course, but all she could think of was Garrett's reaction to the similarly proper, appropriate attire that she'd worn to Key West. She imagined him opening the door of cottage 101 and making some wisecrack about her suit and the inadvisability of wearing any kind of wool when the heat and humidity had everyone else in cotton shorts and shirts.
He probably wouldn't stop with remarks about her suit, either. He would undoubtedly view her starched, tailored blouse, her dark-tinted stockings and her sensible pumps as additional fodder for his jokes. And she was certain he would be unable to resist making some comment about her hair. Though she'd chosen an ideal style for the seriously career-oriented woman that she was, perhaps she ought to modify it somewhat before she saw Garrett again. Maybe she should let her hair down, loose and casual, so he couldn't make any more pointed cracks about her too-tight chignon. Why give him a reason to divert his attention from the work she was bringing him?
Shelby nodded her head decisively. Since her presence at his cottage was strictly work related, it would be a mistake to distract him from it. And since her precision work-related wardrobe and hairstyle seemed to provide him with such amusement, it would be a wise move on her part to remove that source of frivolity.
Shelby stopped at her parents' house before making her delivery to Garrett. In record time, she shed her business suit for a floral-print sundress that tied at the neck, the long, gauzy skirt billowing around her cakes. She also slipped on a pair of pastel espadrilles and brushed her hair so that it curved, soft and shiny, around her shoulders.
Now no one could fault her attire, climate-wise, she assured herself, glancing with satisfaction in her bedroom mirror. Her appearance, though it did not meet her own standards of professional formality, nevertheless would not provide Garrett with an excuse to focus jovially on her rather than the important business at hand.
Feeling validated as a businesswoman—she would always put Halford House first, even at the expense of her own professional image – Shelby set out for cottage 101 and Garrett McGrath.
She was about to knock on the door when it was flung open. Fortunately, her reflexes were quick and she jumped aside before Garrett, who was striding through the doorway, slammed directly into her.
He halted in his tracks and the two stood in silence, staring at each other.
"I didn't know you were out here," he said at last. "I didn't see you, I almost knocked you over." He paused, his blue eyes assessing her from head to toe. "Are you all right?"
"Oh, sure, I'm fine." She laughed nervously. "I'm fast on my feet. Good thing, too. I can't tell you how many runaway luggage carts I've had to dodge over the years or the—" Shelby broke off, embarrassed. She was babbling like a gauche and giddy adolescent. The realization sobered her, enabling her to swiftly compose herself. "I've come at a bad time. Obviously, you were going out."
He was wearing a pair of Halford green swim trunks with the Halford crest imprint. She knew he had to have purchased the suit at the Sun 'n' Swim shop in the hotel arcade. "You should've sprung for the matching camp shirt, too," she advised, raking her eyes over the T-shirt he wore, which boldly proclaimed Key Limes From Key West. The shirt also sported a decal: key limes with arms and legs, wearing hats and sunglasses and dancing in a conga line, a blatant rip-off of the California raisin commercials.
"That T-shirt you have on is even more hideous than your Florida oranges one, and that is no small feat," Shelby observed trenchantly.
"You don't like my souvenir shirt?" Garrett glanced down at his shirt rather proudly. "I bought it yesterday while you were browsing in that gallery with all the tasteful pottery and posters."
"Yes, I recall that you lasted about three minutes in that gallery before heading off to find one of your ubiquitous T-shirt shops."
"And I recall that you stayed in that gallery for what felt like an eternity. I finally had to drag you out."
"I was in there less than twenty minutes. Unfortunately, tasteful doesn't hold your interest for very long."
"Well, I'm willing to be educated. I'm always open to something new." He smiled, a slow and sexy smile that made his dark blue eyes crinkle. "Are you?"
Before she could move away, he cupped her bare shoulders with his hands, kneading the delicate bones with his fingers. Shelby knew she should get herself out of his reach. She tried to take a step away but he didn't relinquish his hold on her. Instead he began to caress her arms, stroking the length of them, sweeping slowly up and down, his fingertips feathering her skin.
"Garrett, I don't… You can't… This isn't…" She took a deep breath and started over. "You're busy, you were planning to go swimming," she observed, her voice oddly high and thready.
"I was coming to get you," he corrected. "I thought we'd go to the beach for a while. But I'd much rather stay here with you," he added huskily.
Shelby was acutely aware of his eyes on her, as they flicked lazily but intently over her body. She felt his gaze as an almost tangible touch, every part of her tightening and tingling in response. He wanted her, she knew it. His face silently but unmistakably bespoke desire.
She felt as if she were melting under the heated intensity of his gaze. Vaguely she remembered the folder from her father, the reason why she was here. But as she stood mesmerized by Garrett's deep blue eyes, her body flushing with need and desire, the reason why she'd come seemed increasingly irrelevant. The folder slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground, unnoticed by either of them.
"It's going to be good between us, Shelby." Garrett's voice dropped, becoming lower and thicker. "I promise, sweetheart."
His mouth covered hers, insistent and rapacious, taking full possession of her lips without any preliminaries. He pressed her tightly against him, one hand
holding her head, the other arching her into the hard masculine cradle of his thighs.
Wildly, helplessly, Shelby felt herself catch fire. A tempestuous wave of emotion swept through her and she held him closer, responding to his kiss with a fierce hunger all her own. The force of his male arousal throbbed insistently against her and she felt an unexpected tenderness for him. She wanted to assuage this desire of his and satisfy her own voluptuous yearnings. Never before had she experienced these urgent and enthralling needs. They seemed to come together in a passionate fire storm, sending her spinning out of control and into a wild world where order and routine were irrelevant, where emotion and sensation reigned supreme.
She was so lost in the fiery wonder of their passion that she was caught unaware when he suddenly lifted his mouth from hers to scoop her up into his arms. She gave a small gasp of surprise and automatically clasped her arms around his neck, hanging on for dear life. The sensation of being lifted and carried, of not having her feet firmly on solid ground, was disorienting. And being disoriented was not a pleasant sensation for one who prized being in control of herself and the situation at all times.
"Put me down!" she ordered tightly. Her passion-induced mindlessness had abruptly dissolved, replaced by her usual self-protective hypervigilance. She tensed, bracing herself for a fall.
Garrett merely grinned and carried her inside, pausing only to kick the front door shut.
The sensation of moving through the air with no control over the motion was becoming increasingly alarming. "Garrett, I'm not kidding," she warned. She tried to kick her feet in protest but succeeded only in losing one shoe.
"Honey, neither am I."
Her nails dug into his shoulders. He had hastened his stride and she made the mistake of looking up. The rampant sexuality in his blue eyes unnerved her as much as the fleeting glimpses of the ceiling passing overhead. She went limp and still and swiftly lowered her eyes to the ground.
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